


five times Saren Raithe shared kisses with his chosen ones

by Aria



Category: Mistworld Fictional TV Series Campaign
Genre: F/M, Five Times + 1, I REGRET NOTHING, Kissing, M/M, Saren Raithe the wildly unreliable narrator, so many mind games, they're all a giant and dysfunctional family, this was a terrible idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria/pseuds/Aria
Summary: Everyone has a language that can be learned.





	five times Saren Raithe shared kisses with his chosen ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feedingonwind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feedingonwind/gifts).

**1\. Leila**

One of the first things Saren Raithe notices about Leila is that she's flirting with him. Luckily, one of the first things Saren Raithe notices about Leila is that she flirts with everyone, indiscriminately charming and suggestive with the same sweeping force as a natural disaster, so he has very little opportunity to take it personally and to have a personal reaction. Chiefly what he feels is amusement, because Leila even flirts with _Athol_, who manages to be simultaneously stoic and easily flustered. It is entirely possible that the entire appeal of flirting with Athol, to Leila, is getting his stoicism to crack into flusterment.

Saren Raithe has enough self-awareness to know that he could be flustered too, if he allowed it. This calls for aggressive action, to head that off at the pass. And so: he flirts back.

It very quickly devolves into an amusing game of a sort Saren Raithe believes is generally called "chicken." Leila says seemingly innocuous things -- "I can do that spell," or "I've never been to the Abystral Plane before" -- along with slyly suggestive looks, and while Saren Raithe makes his innocuous replies, he holds her gaze too long and too steadily, smiling. Leila sets a hand lightly on his arm when making a point, arguing for the bubbling of a particular piece of a world, and when Saren Raithe agrees, his hand brushes for a moment against the small of her back.

It's a game. It's not because he's interested.

He is very interested.

This is, before all else, a lesson about the importance of necessary diversity in the pantheon he wishes to create. Leila, for all that she cares fiercely for their cause, for all that she throws herself fully into everything to which she chooses to dedicate herself, deals with the terrible weight of their situation by deliberately making light of it. Perhaps, Saren Raithe finds himself thinking while he watches Leila sweet-talk her way into a party at which they will make several important political moves, they can ... have fun; perhaps, despite the urgency of their task, saving the dying universe can be something that contains moments of enjoyment. 

At the party, he and Leila efficiently work the room, each of them with a handful of marks to charm and persuade and con and set against one another. Observing Leila from a distance, Saren Raithe feels a deep admiration for her talents. He chose well.

As the night goes on, the party devolves into dancing, and laughter, and people kissing unsubtly in corners of the room. Saren Raithe is discreetly watching the beginnings of a falling-out between the emperor's heir-apparent and the emperor's top advisor when Leila appears at his elbow. "Stop staring," she advises. "It's going great. Come on, dance with me."

They're back to the game, Saren Raithe sees. "Of course," he says, taking Leila's hand, and leads her out to the dance floor. She's warm in his arms. There are ribbons spiraling up the curls of her horns, and her eyes sparkle with the satisfaction of a job well done. He leans close to murmur in her ear, "You've been spectacular tonight."

"I _know_!" she says, grinning at him. "I'm glad you noticed."

This startles a laugh from him. He is continually surprised by her ability to wrap the universe around her little finger, a manipulation that is shockingly far from his own brand of subtlety, and relies instead on the sheer confident force of her personality. It will serve her well in godhood. It's serving her well now: her smiling face is tilted up to his, an invitation and a challenge, inviting him to compliment her again on her magnificence. 

It's a game, Saren Raithe reminds himself, and that doesn't stop him -- perhaps it serves as a goad -- whatever the reason, he's pulling her close and kissing her, a compliment, the next step of the dance. She kisses back, so enthusiastically that Saren Raithe feels dizzy, and then she's spinning out of his arms again, laughing.

He catches her when she spins back, and they execute the rest of the dance perfectly. Saren Raithe is smiling all the while.

**2\. Merineth**

Mist laps against the edge of the bubble. Inside, preserved as though in perfect amber by memories and magic, is the best of a world that would have died without their intervention. It was a beautiful world, full of architectural marvels conjured by Skjaldi's lyre. Ellesmere had been especially beautiful. Ellesmere still exists inside the bubble, with its spindly gravity-defying towers, and a mages' guild whose library boasts the most extensive collection of both magical and historical volumes Saren Raithe has found on any world. It was a clean job, this bubbling, and Saren Raithe is pleased.

"So that's ... done?" Merineth asks. She's standing just at the line between bubble and mist, looking unsure. Her armor shines softly with the reflected light given off by the Ellesmere that will now be preserved and perfect forever. She glances back over at Saren Raithe. "It's just, I still don't like thinking about all the ways we had to disrupt that world to get this."

Saren Raithe likes Merineth's tender heart: it's a fine balance to his own calculation. He likes even more that Merineth is capable of absolute stubborn certainty, if something is explained to her properly, and that she obligingly shares her doubts with him rather than harboring them secretly and allowing them to fester. And that is a good metaphor, suited to his purposes.

"That world was dying," he says. "Without our intervention, all of it would be gone. We cut out the infection and saved what we could. Battlefield clerics don't always arrive in time to save lost limbs."

"And this is a battle," Merineth murmurs.

"The most important war you'll ever fight," Saren Raithe agrees. Merineth turns to him, a slight, concerned frown still on her face, and Saren Raithe returns her look with a serious, understanding one of his own, giving her worry the gravity it deserves. "I appreciate this. I get caught up in strategy, and forget to mourn what is lost when we save a world."

Merineth's shoulders release some of their tension. "We didn't lose everything," she says, obviously reminding herself more than him. "That library was incredible -- _is_ incredible." Her eyes are beginning to shine. "I know we can't prioritize libraries in every timeline, but I'd love to make a project of it -- going through different world histories, finding points of commonality, seeing which versions of their Majesties' laws are being enacted in each world, assuming that their rule lasted long enough for that sort of thing to have an impact."

"A worthwhile pursuit, even if it can't be our top priority," Saren Raithe agrees. He likes this about Merineth: the considered curation of everything she holds dear, the fierce desire to protect and preserve. It's an impulse that aligns nicely with his own, and is valuable for its own sake.

He comes up beside her, and sets a careful arm across her shoulders. His own personal space preferences don't tend in the direction of casual physical affection, but Merineth comes from a background that almost demands it, and the way she immediately leans into the touch is very gratifying. "Our history will not be allowed to die," he says. "We're saving the best of every world, Merineth, and we'll preserve as many libraries as we can."

"I appreciate that," Merineth says. She turns in the circle of his arm and bounces up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. It's chaste and companionable and doesn't ask or offer anything more, but when she drops back on her heels, beaming at him, she doesn't draw back from his loose embrace.

"And I appreciate you," Saren Raithe says, smiling back. He can still feel the press of her lips, casual and kind. He is pleased to find that he continues to be satisfied with his choice to bring her into the fold: he is looking forward, very much, to starting the world anew with Merineth by his side. "Now," he says, "where do you think we should start our next preservation project?"

**3\. Rai**

Rai is trouble.

Saren Raithe thought so from the moment Athol proposed her as one of their companions, but Athol insisted that Rai's technical and innovative skills alone were worth pursuing, and when Saren Raithe considers the ideal shape for a pantheon, he does think that a god of artificing is a worthy counterweight to gods of divine and arcane magics. That does not, however, mean that he thinks Rai, the messy human reality of her, is necessarily worth that balance.

Rai is the sort of person who will stay awake far too many hours chasing innovation on her latest project, or working towards a too-soon deadline that she nevertheless manages to meet. Saren Raithe can respect this. Rai is the sort of person who will get in a fight for the sheer joy of it -- not necessarily a negative trait, again given the balancing Saren Raithe wishes to do in his pantheon -- and the sort of person who will hear an order and do its exact opposite, not because she disagrees with a judgment call, but because she's stubborn and contrary and has some kind of chip on her shoulder about authority, and the fact that Saren Raithe has no leverage of control on her is infuriating. Worse, there is no version of Rai that takes orders well and has no issue with authority; Saren Raithe would know, as he looked, _extensively_, when Athol made his preference known.

Which is how they end up in situations like this one, with a bomb set to go off in Halr's city center very shortly, and Rai ignoring Saren Raithe. "You have less than a minute," Saren Raithe hisses into his speaking stone, watching Rai from his vantage point outside the blast zone. He would have preferred to have all of his people out a long time ago, but Rai's idea of a subtle evacuation tactic involved her staying behind and very dramatically playing the victim of plague outbreak. This _has_ effectively evacuated the immediate area around the bomb, neatly limiting civilian casualties without negating the resulting necessary chaos of an explosion. Saren Raithe does not, on principle, object to Rai evacuating civilians. He does object to her continuing to fuck around in the immediate area. "_Get out_, Rai."

"It's fine," Rai returns into her own speaking stone. "I'm testing out my new blast armor."

Of course she is. Of course she's been doing dangerous vanity projects. "Test it out under controlled conditions!" Saren Raithe snaps.

"Nope," says Rai. He can see her grinning, even as far away as he is. She turns in his general direction and blows him a sarcastic kiss, expertly timed -- even as her hand stretches out towards him, the entire block behind her blooms outward in flame.

In the aftermath, when his ears stop ringing, he can see Rai standing among the wreckage, her edges rippling with a magical forcefield, still grinning. Saren Raithe tries to calm his breathing. He makes a mental note to have Rai incorporate that forcefield into their ship's defense system. 

The next time he and Rai are arguing via speaking stone -- this time about the best way to implement said forcefield defense, having mutually decided to communicate with the stones to avoid shouting at one another down the length of the ship -- Saren Raithe installs a spell component over Rai's objections. He ignores her swearing over the stone, and blows her a kiss of his own across the bow. Rai's curses are briefly interrupted by a surprised cackle.

Good. Rai is trouble, but everyone has a language that can be learned. She'll be manageable.

**4\. Kithri**

"Here, I'll top you off."

Saren Raithe watches with tipsy amusement as Kithri leans forward in her seat and pours him another mugful of her truly appalling moonshine. It's made of apples and ... something. He's sure he doesn't want to know. Mostly apples. It's made Saren Raithe's face mildly numb, and he is frankly impressed that Kithri still seems mostly unaffected by it, given how little body mass she has. 

"Thank you," Saren Raithe says gravely, and taps his mug against hers before taking another drink. It still burns fiercely on the way down. He enjoys the way Kithri watches him for signs of weakness. He suspects that she does this to all her friends, and that anyone who coughs from the moonshine will be marked to be taken ruthless advantage of. "So," Saren Raithe says. "Of which domain do you wish to be a god?"

Kithri's eyes narrow. "Why?"

Saren Raithe briefly considers and discards claiming that he's simply making conversation. "Athol brought you on for your skills as a rogue and an assassin. I don't disagree." He leans forward, smiling, deliberately personable, because he's curious what she'll make of that. "But," he says, "I'm also interested in making a balanced pantheon for our new world, and I'm curious to know where you see yourself."

"I hadn't thought about it," Kithri says, and takes a drink, still eyeing Saren Raithe. Saren Raithe looks back at her, still smiling, wondering where her cracks are, by what chinks of weakness he might figure her out and be able to lead her. She has enough outward toughness that he suspects her of having a soft underbelly. He also suspects that she's spent a lifetime interacting with people who have attempted to use her for their own ends, and that, if he wishes for things to be peaceable between them, she'll require an exceptionally light touch.

"The god of assassins, perhaps," Saren Raithe suggests. "Or of rogues, or of secrets. In the vacuum left by Vecna and Olidammara there is space you could fill."

Kithri is quiet for a long moment, her fingers tapping against her mug in nervous staccato. She can hide anywhere and move without sound, and she's also one of the most fidgety people Saren Raithe has ever spent an extended amount of time around. She has more nervous energy than her body can contain, perhaps; or perhaps she's still alive because she's this alert, even after several mugfuls of moonshine.

"Fun," Kithri says. "Some fucking relaxation after all this is over."

"Olidammara's domain, then," Saren Raithe replies lightly, so as not to give away how delighted he is to have seen a glimpse of Kithri's soft underbelly. 

"Eh," Kithri says. "He's Rai's god, not mine."

"He isn't real anymore," Saren Raithe reminds her. "There are no gods but the gods we're going to become."

Something complicated happens on Kithri's face. Saren Raithe is so occupied attempting identify the emotions that comprise her expression that he doesn't immediately register the fact that Kithri is moving towards him, not until she's halfway into his lap and kissing him in a technically proficient way that slots her expression into context. By all the dead gods, she thinks he's _threatening_ her. That her place is conditional, and that if she doesn't give Saren Raithe what he wants, she'll become as unreal as vanished Olidammara.

She is not, at the heart of it, _wrong_, but she secured her place in Saren Raithe's pantheon a long time before this moment.

He disentangles gently, with a little sigh against her lips to reassure her that the kiss was good. "Kithri," he murmurs, "that isn't necessary. The only thing I require of your company tonight is that you keep serving me that remarkable moonshine until neither of us can see straight."

Kithri makes a thoughtful noise, and presses another kiss to Saren Raithe's jawline -- oh, she is good at this, there's a casual weight to her body now, suggesting that her kiss was drunkenness rather than calculation, even though she doesn't pretend to misunderstand what Saren Raithe just said. 

Then she slides off his lap and back into her own seat, reaching for the bottle again. "Moonshine until neither of us can see straight," she repeats. "That, I can do."

**5\. Athol**

Athol is--

Athol is the reason any of this is happening. He realized that the universe was breaking apart, collapsing in on itself, eating itself alive, and he stepped back to look at it, and then he opened Saren Raithe's eyes to it too, and together they began their work of preservation. Athol is quiet and brilliant and, amid all his calculations, Saren Raithe would never dream of arranging circumstances so that Athol will do what he wants. If anything, it's the other way around. Athol observes and makes decisive plans, and Saren Raithe does whatever is required of him.

Were it anyone else, this impulse to defer to another's judgment would worry Saren Raithe deeply. But Athol is clear-eyed and precise and _straightforward_, and Saren Raithe, who can read him entirely, trusts him entirely too.

At this moment they're standing on a bluff overlooking a sheer cliff. The drop below would be dizzying, if _below_ was a concept that had real meaning. The material plane doesn't exist on this world, though, to impose rules like _up and down_ on them. The stormy sea that fills the view isn't, strictly speaking, water, but something closer to emotion. It ate this version of the world alive long ago; Athol and Saren Raithe have been studying it for similarities and contrasts to the mist. To be more precise, Athol has been studying it, and when he brings his observations back to the workshop, Saren Raithe assists in analysis. But today Saren Raithe has the time to come in person, and so he accompanies Athol.

(He does not feel jealous of Athol's other projects. To feel jealousy would imply first that Saren Raithe feels threatened, as though anything can be more important than the work they are both doing to save the world, whether or not they do it in the same physical space. What he feels is ... _longing_, that's the word, a strange, tender, hungry feeling. What he feels is a wish to have bestowed upon him the same absolute focus to which Athol devotes all important considerations.)

Waves crash against the cliff, coating them both in a fine spray. The wind whips the braids in Athol's hair. He looks remote and magnificent, as though he has already achieved the godhood that Saren Raithe is still hoarding in small, experimental increments. "That's everything we're going to get, here," Athol says.

"Do you think any of it is worth bubbling?" Saren Raithe asks.

"No," Athol says simply. Saren Raithe likes his decisiveness. To Athol's mind, nothing is simple, but everything has an answer, a clean line between hypothesis and truth like the cut of a knife. Saren Raithe wishes he had that sort of clarity. He wishes--

No. Wishing is useless. Plans are what count.

Saren Raithe makes possibly the most rapid plan he's ever concocted, and implements it at once. He steps into Athol's space, deliberately, and leans down over him. "One last matter, before we leave," he says. "The worlds are collapsing, and we have a hope of success, but no guarantee. So I intend to kiss you now."

He watches Athol consider this. He watches the clean line in Athol's mind, drawn between proposal and acceptance, and the brief considering smile on Athol's face makes something go tight in Saren Raithe's chest. He leans in further, and presses his mouth to Athol's.

Spectacular waves, something between water and emotion, crash around them. Up and down are concepts without any meaning. The universe is devouring itself, and on one crumbling promontory of a small used-up corner of a world, Athol is warm and solid beneath Saren Raithe's hands. 

It is a very good kiss.

**+1**

They finally agree to meet with him again, a cautious truce. He cannot convince them all to come listen, but both Merineth and Athol arrive where he expects them, and that is something. They sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder, watching him with identical skeptical looks of wariness. Saren Raithe looks between them, his pulse racing unconscionably fast, the unrecognition on both of their faces breaking his heart just as thoroughly as the first realization of their betrayal had done. He reviews in his mind what will be safe to tell them, what he can say to get them to trust him again. He already knows it will never be the same as it was before. That's been true for a long time. That was true long before they lost their memories of him.

That's all right. He'll survive it.


End file.
